Different Angles
by Thessaloni
Summary: The Life and Times of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.
1. First Days

_I apologise for the first posting of this; it seems strange things happened to my document, and the paragraph indents did not survive the process. Hopefully, we shall fare better this time._

_Of course, I own none of the children, except for Dia Crabbe; the Malfoy family, the Crabbes and Goyles belong to JK Rawlings, may she keep them happy and safe and treat them fairly. Dia Crabbe is a shameless self-insertion; I invite anyone willing to spot the Sue, to do so. And have fun at it. _

_Enjoy._

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His blonde hair was perfectly in place after ten minutes of careful combing, and Draco Malfoy felt quite content with himself. He wished he had hair as long as fathers, but he had been told Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had a strict dress code, and his hair was already a bit too long.

The boy carefully knotted his tie and smiled at himself in the mirror; before nightfall, the neutral grey tie would be exchanged for one striped in silver and green, the colors of Slytherin House. Or at least he hoped so. They said no one could really know what house they would be sorted into before arriving at Hogwarts, but Draco fancied he had a pretty good idea of where he would go. After all, father had been in Slytherin, grandfather had been in Slytherin, and mother…Well, mother had not gone to Hogwarts, but if she had, Draco was sure she would have been in Slytherin too.

With that reassuring thought, he left his room, slamming the door behind him and rushed down the stairs for breakfast, thinking of all the boring things he would have to do before boarding the 11.00 Hogwarts Express. First, he would have to go to Madam Malkin's for a cape fitting, then walk up and down Diagon Alley to buy books and a wand…well, hopefully, his parents cold handle those details. As for Draco, all he was looking forward to was checking out the new racing brooms. He had heard that Nimbus had used the opening of the school year to launch their new model, and he was really anxious to see it. Perhaps even convince father to buy it?

Draco smirked to himself. Not likely, as father was rarely persuaded to do anything he did not really want to do – and then of course, the broom would have to be smuggled in, which was even more difficult. It was really stupid of headmaster Dumbledore not to allow first year students to have their own racing brooms. More adjustments designed to make children of non-magical families feel comfortable, no doubt, he thought, walking into the kitchen and glancing expectantly around.

Three house elves went out of their way to accommodate the boy – one pulled his chair away from the table, then pushed it back under after he sat; another hastily fetched a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, while a third poured maple syrup over the four perfectly circular pancakes on Draco's plate.

'Is Master pleased?' one of the tiny pinkish creatures inquired nervously. Draco took a few seconds of consideration before answering 'Could've been done quicker, I think.', and the elf hung its head in defeat.

The three elves aligned themselves to the boy's right, watching him eat and swallowing dry; the sweet smell of the pancakes only served to remind them that their last meal had been the previous day's lunch. Three bald heads bobbed simultaneously, as the house elves' watched their master's son cut the pancakes methodically into equal size bites, then slowly transport each bite from the plate into his mouth.

It took Draco a few minutes to realize that his gestures were so hungrily watched, and when he finally looked up, he noticed that the grey clad elves were all but about to faint. He frowned, slightly raising an eyebrow. His fork lingered in mid air, the small piece of sweet pastry dripping syrup onto the plate below, and holding the attention of the three critters as if it had been the world's largest gem.

'Do you want some of this, then?' he asked, making the elves exchange questioning yet expectant glances. 'How about you, Dobby?'

After being slightly nudged by its companions, one of the elves took a tentative step towards its master. The tip of its long nose wiggled slightly, taking in the delicious aroma – Draco lowered his fork just a fraction, and, still not unsure whether his empty stomach was getting the better of his imagination, the elf stretched its neck as far as it could.

The fork was almost within touch now; Dobby looked up at Draco, then, encouraged by the innocent and reassuring expression on the boy's face, reached out to take the piece of pancake…just as the fork drifted out of his reach and carried the pastry into Draco's mouth.

'Silly elf!' the boy giggled. 'You actually believed me!'

Long pointy ears and long pointy noses drooped in dismay, as Dobby returned to his place in line with an utterly humiliated expression on his face. He should not have expected more kindness from the child than he expected from the parents, the elf thought, and sighed deeply.

Not really hungry and still snickering to himself at the prank he had pulled on his servants, Draco pushed the bits and pieces of pancake around the plate for a few minutes longer; just as he fancied he had arranged them into a pretty good likeness of a racing broom, he heard his mother's voice calling from behind.

'Still not done with breakfast, Draco? Your father is already dressed and in the parlor.'

'The elves delayed me, mother,' the boy quickly responded, putting the fork down. 'And they wanted some of my breakfast…Spoiled my appetite, really.'

'Is that so?' The three critters cuddled against each other and all but shrieked in fright when Narcissa Malfoy sharply turned towards them. 'How many times have a told you not to bother Draco at mealtimes?'

The woman scrutinized the shaking elves for a few moments, then decided she would have ample time to punish their lack of deference after she returned from the train station. It would have been a pity to spoil the last moments with her child for the sake of these wretched creatures; she gestured for the elves to scatter and turned to face her son, the sweetest of smiles lighting her features.

Narcissa was beautiful and delicate enough to have been a porcelain doll; her hair was almost white, and the fact that she wore it in a tight braid only served to accentuate the graceful curve of her alabaster skinned neck. Blue eyes, dark and clear as a mid-winter night descended lovingly upon her son.

'Cuddles,' the boy demanded in a soft, dreamy voice, his arms shooting up and circling his mother's shoulders when the woman leaned to comply with his request.

'Make me and you father proud,' she whispered into Draco's ear, and the boy nodded eagerly, his tiny hands hiding in the heavy dark laces of Narcissa's robes. Impatient tapping coming from the parlor interrupted the embrace soon enough, however – and the woman straightened her back, giving her son a last approving glance.

'You are very handsome,' she said, barely refraining from ruffling Draco's neatly arranged hair. 'Let's go find you a befitting cape.'

Diagon Alley was full of bustle and noise; the beginning of the school year was the busiest and most profitable time of the year for its many merchants. The finest makers of wands, tailors and booksellers kept shop here, along with sellers of all potions and creatures magical. Children of various ages clad in dark uniforms moved excitedly from storefront to storefront, closely followed by equally excited parents, most of which were bent under the weight of many neatly wrapped packages.

The Nimbus store front, which lay to the right hand side of the exotic animals shop, was by far one of the busiest windows; the launching of their newest racing broom models had caused much enthusiasm among youngsters, and, as excited youngsters could hardly be expected to be quiet, the chaotic atmosphere could not but take its toll on the animals near by. Among the shrill protesting cries of owls, enraged meowing of cats and the crystal clear voices of the children admiring the sleek broom in the window, however, one accent sounded out with amazing clarity.

'But, father…' Draco whined, 'you said yourself that it is unfair for first year students not to have their own brooms!'

'Thank professor Dumbledore, and all the muggle born children who don't know how to fly one.' Lucius Malfoy replied dryly, eyeing his son as if he had expected the child to decipher a message hidden beneath the simple words.

'Please, father…' the boy began again; yet this time, his father's interruption was no longer simply dry.

'Do not plead in public,' Lucius hissed, the immediate nature of the command being reinforced by the fact the tip of his cane, a perfectly cast silver serpent, came to rest brusquely on Draco's shoulder.

The boy looked up at his father, yet the words had frozen on his lips and he protested no further. He had known his chances of getting his hands on the Nimbus 2000 were slim – and besides, the boy thought grudgingly, what was the point of getting a new racing broom if one could not fly it right away?

Slightly displeased by the turn out of the conversation, Narcissa leant forward to smooth out an invisible wrinkle in her son's new cape.

'There will be a new model next year. And I am sure your father will not refuse you or your house's quidditch team, should you be wanting for quality equipment then.' She offered.

'Of course not,' Lucius confirmed, with a slight nod. 'That is, of course, when and if he will be on the team.'

Narcissa's graceful neck arched as she turned to throw a sly wink at her husband. Both of them knew all too well that Draco was an exceptional quidditch player for one so young, and that if by bad fortune – or because of the blatant dislike Hogwarts' headmaster had shown the Malfoy family in recent years – the child would be denied his well deserved spot on the team, Lucius would promptly find a way to remedy the situation.

With a smile that resembled a complacency grimace more than an actual expression of mirth, Lucius offered Narcissa his arm, leading her away from the too busy and noisy shop window and into the narrow street. Draco followed his parents closely, not without throwing another disappointed glance at the Nimbus shop sign.

'I want to see the wand you got me,' he said, feeling tempted to tug his mother's sleeve, but bravely resisting the temptation. Narcissa gracefully handed Draco a small rectangular package, wrapped in elegant black parchment.

She had picked out the most expensive one 'Ollivander's' carried, a long, perfectly polished one with beautiful, miniature carvings on the handle. Narcissa thought the white wood matched her son's skin perfectly, and she watched in delight as Draco twirled the wand between his fingers for a few seconds. He looked absolutely adorable in his white shirt, grey mohair sweater and silver tie, his silky blonde hair perfectly combed…

But then, dark colored clothes and light colored hair had always been what best suited Malfoys; with an almost imperceptible smirk, Narcissa wondered whether she too had been a carefully chosen and perfectly matched accessory, but she chased the thought away. She knew very few men that were as handsome as Lucius was, and even fewer couples that looked as beautifully matched as they did.

She was quite proud to be seen on this tall, elegant man's arm – she liked the way his shoulders looked in the tight fitting black tunic, she liked to hear the imperceptible sound the soft leather of his glove made against the silver snake's body as the cane swung with Lucius' every step. His permanently narrowed eyes and the aquiline expression on his features had always made her feel important – Lucius dominated any environment he happened to cross, and his aura of strength was pleasantly reflected upon her, making up for many other inconveniences.

Like the company he sometimes kept.

Narcissa had always found Thomas Crabbe and the terribly common Mrs. Crabbe, whose first name she had not even tried to memorize, quite ghastly. It was not only their general un-wizardly appearance that bothered her, but everything about them seemed oddly out of place, and although she could not understand why, Narcissa had a hard time imagining a situation in which the Crabbe couple would actually feel at ease. Be it midsummer or the dead of winter, the man's forehead was constantly covered in a thin film of sweat, which he uselessly tried to wipe off with a brightly red cotton handkerchief; had she had a choice, Narcissa would have avoided extending her hand to him at any cost.

As it was, however, Lucius' work with the ministry of magic demanded the assistance of a few men with similar political convictions, and by virtue of his family's fortune and his own good reputation as a reliable and honorable clerk, Crabbe occupied an important enough position – so Narcissa lent her perfect alabaster fingers to the man's hurried kiss, and smiled, hoping that her expression conveyed as much as possible of her disgust and boredom.

'Mrs. Malfoy,' Thomas Crabbe panted, as if he had just crossed the finishing line of a ten mile run. 'It's always a pleasure.'

'Likewise,' she replied, quickly looking away from the man. Eager to demonstrate that she wanted as little to do with the Crabbes as she possibly could, the blonde woman extracted a golden wristwatch from her corset's pocket, and frowned at the position of the hands.

'It is already a quarter past ten, Lucius.'

She looked around, hoping that Draco was near by and would provide her with a perfect excuse to cut the meeting as short as possible; her son was paying no attention to her, however, preferring to annoy the cat of the Crabbes daughter by repeatedly slipping a piece of red ribbon inside its case and pulling it out as soon as the animal reached for it.

The cat was more than reasonably enraged; it twisted and meowed wildly, as if it had been rabid, and Narcissa was tempted to warn her son away from the black blotch of fur which was only slightly visible in the padded box.

'You'll get yours when Sigmund gets out,' the Crabbes' daughter warned with a light chuckle.

'Na, he really likes me,' Draco responded, crouching by the box the girl had set down. As if it had understood the boy's words, the cat emitted a long, furious meow, and reached out of the transport case, clearly trying to claw at Draco's hand. Surprised by the cat's movement, Draco pulled his hand back quickly, almost falling over; the animal meowed again, with a discernible note of triumph. To Narcissa's surprise, the boy laughed, and stood up without a single sign of irritation.

'Come on, Dia, let's go look at the Nimbus 2000 again,' Draco said, 'I'm not getting one this year, but mother said that father will get me an even better one next year…'

'Dia?' Narcissa jumped at the chance to draw her son near before he could once again disappear in the crowd in front of the broom store window. 'Where does it come from? I suppose that it isn't your true name, is it?'

Draco laughed, maliciously cranking his nose at the girl's sudden embarrassment.

'It comes from Diamanda Eulalie,' Thomas Crabbe explained with a fair amount of pride. Narcissa could not hide her surprise, and looked up at her husband with an expression that almost conveyed fright. In response, Lucius smiled – for the first time with genuine amusement – and even produced a slight shrug.

'Come here, Dia darling, and say hello,' Mrs. Crabbe said; the girl approached, and curtsied semi-gracefully.

'Good day, Mrs. Malfoy…Mr. Malfoy.'

Diamanda Eulalie Crabbe looked quite common – a pretty child, Narcissa thought, with slim chances of ever growing beautiful. She was a little taller than Draco, which was quite normal at eleven; judging by the fact that Dia was almost as tall as her mother, plump and even showing good signs that she would have an impressive chest, it was clear that the girl had already had her growth spur and would not change much in the following years. The girl's hair was a shiny, but quite common shade of brown, held back by a broad blue band which boasted excessive golden thread embroidery.

'Hello, Diamanda Eulalie,' Lucius responded to the child's greeting, pronouncing her full name just for the pleasure of watching his son coil with giggles somewhere in the back of the group.

Completely insensitive to the ironic undertone in the man's voice, Dia blushed visibly after looking up at Lucius, and Narcissa barely withheld a chuckle. She was used to the effect her husband's good looks and posture had on women, but it was rare to see it so clearly and innocently expressed.

'We should hurry to the station. And go inside somewhere to get the children into muggle clothes.' Narcissa said, to no one in particular.

'Indeed, Mrs. Malfoy, indeed,' Crabbe hurried to reply, 'We are to meet the Goyle family at half past ten, on the train platform.'

'Since the children are going to start school in the same year, I thought it would be a good idea to see that they are seated together on the Hogwarts Express.' Lucius explained to his wife's sudden scowl. As much as Narcissa disliked the Crabbes, she hated the Goyles. Yet, Lucius must have had his reasons for wanting Draco to arrive at Hogwarts with an already formed following, and perhaps it was for the best.

The small group started slowly down the street, Dia's eyes still hypnotically fixed on Lucius Malfoy.

'Did you see the new Nimbus, though?' Draco insisted, and the girl shook her head in annoyance.

'You know I don't play quidditch,' she answered, quickening the pace to catch up with the adults and the object of her attention.

'I know you don't play, but I think it's plain stupid. I for example am very sure I will be on my house's team in the second year; even father said they would be crazy not to pick me…How can you not play quidditch?' the boy protested. 'You are odd, I must say, and you're not the only one; at madam Malkin's just now there was another boy who didn't even know what quidditch was. That was not the only weird thing about him, either, he was here getting his supplies with Hagrid, a servant from Hogwarts…'

'You met Harry Potter?'

The girl's brown eyes widened in such honest surprise that Draco had to believe it was not a prank.

'That was Harry Potter? Really? He looked kind of wimpy and common…and how can you know it was Harry Potter? I mean, my father would have told me…'

'Everyone but you knew that Harry Potter is starting school this year.' Dia declared, with obvious triumph. For an instant, Draco's lips pursed together tightly, as the boy's pretty face twisted to a menacing frown.

'You fancy my father!' he said, after a few seconds of thought, and judging by the scarlet shade of Dia's cheeks, the arrow had hit the mark.

'I most certainly do not!' she futilely protested.

'Yes you do.'

Draco was positively glowing with delight.

'Liar, you couldn't take your eyes off him, and you were as red as a Gryfindor quidditch cape. Besides, if you weren't swooning over my father, how come you forgot Sigmund in the middle of the street?'

'Toad crap! He'll kill me!' Dia exclaimed, in a most unladylike fashion. As she turned and ran to recuperate her pet, Draco broke into laughter.

'You've Hufflepuff written all over you, Crabbe!' he cried after her.

'You wish, Malfoy!' she shouted in response, her words completed by a loud and horrible meow as the transport case almost jumped off the ground with the wild rattles of the animal inside.

Once Narcissa laid eyes on the Goyle's son, Lucius' reasons for wanting the three children to travel together became very obvious; the boy was huge and built like a brick wall, broad shoulders and thick neck completed by an utterly sheepish expression. Next to him – and the rather strongly built Crabbe girl – Draco looked twice smaller and more delicate than he actually was. Somehow, Narcissa decided, seeing her son flanked by these other two children gave her a feeling of safety. Goyle especially had the air of a bulldog waiting to bounce, and by the fact his lower lip hung in amazement every time Draco said anything, it was clear he would be at the young Malfoy's beck and call.

The train had already pulled in at the platform, and the children's luggage had been loaded into the compartment, all except the Crabbe girl's cat, whose meowing had died down to menacing snarls and hisses.

'Will you be letting it…him out on the train?' Narcissa inquired, with some concern. Dia nodded. 'Isn't he dangerous? I mean, you could lose him.' She quickly corrected herself.

'No, he just doesn't like to be boxed.'

'Or touched,' Draco snickered. 'Or petted, or played with. Mostly anything that doesn't include biting and clawing.'

'I can touch Sigmund,' Dia heartily protested.

'Yes, and you've just the scars to prove it.'

Narcissa shuddered at the thought of that horrible animal's claws digging into her son's flesh, and dearly regretted not paying more attention to the children Lucius chose to be Draco's play partners. Still, it was not as if the choices had been abundant; pure blood children were few and growing fewer, given this age's frivolous marriage policy. Love – the woman thought, frowning. Just another excuse to mix with muggles and ruin perfectly good bloodlines.

In the old days, marriage had been considered an institution, and rightly so; how anyone could think an institution could be funded on something as frivolous as love was beyond Narcissa's understanding.

A long whistle announced the train was setting to depart; Mrs. Crabbe had begun saying her farewells to her daughter, showering her with kisses and hugs which caused the child more than a little embarrassment. Though Narcissa would have liked giving her son a god bye kiss, the Crabbe's spectacle was so disgraceful that it discouraged any other show of affection.

'You three children take good care of each other, now,' Lucius said, the words clearly directed at the Goyle boy. 'And don't mingle with the wrong sort.'

'We won't, Mr. Malfoy,' Dia Crabbe promised instead of Goyle, who seemed so impressed by the fact that Lucius had addressed him, that he could find nothing to say.

'Now off you go.' Lucius added, dismissing the children with a swing of his cane in the direction of the train. 'Children are amusing but tiresome. Best not to give them too much attention – their mothers spoil them enough.' he said to Crabbe, who nodded though it was quite obvious that he didn't share Lucius' opinion in the least.

'Speaking of which, darling,' Lucius followed insidiously, turning towards his wife, 'I thought I heard our son shouting in the middle of the street a while ago.'

'You should have berated him yourself then,' Narcissa responded, a light blush ascending to her translucent cheeks.

'I would have, but I caught it too late; like dogs, I doubt children can really remember what they're being punished for unless one catches them right in the middle of doing it.'

It seemed Lucius enjoyed seeing that neither the Crabbes nor the Goyles dared contradict him. He smiled resplendently, and with a quick skillful swing, tucked his cane under his arm.

'Help me, Goyle!' Dia's voice called in irritation; the large boy, who had just climbed on the train, turned around and offered a dumb but obviously apologetic grin. The girl raised the cat's transport box, and in spite of the object's mad dangling, Goyle caught it and lifted it safely on the train.

'Would you two hurry up?' Draco snapped from behind. 'You should ease up on those sweets, Crabbe, you've grown an impressive bum.' He added, as the girl climbed the first step on the train's ladder.

'Nonsense, Malfoy, I am not fat. I am, er, voluptuously proportioned.'

'Yes, yes, keep telling yourself that,' Draco snickered. 'And hurry up.'

Just as the conductor closed the train door behind the three children, the platform clock's hands moved to show 11 sharp, and with a long hiss, the Hogwarts Express set into motion.

Left behind on the 9 and ¾ platform, Lucius Malfoy stared at the red train, which was quickly gaining speed, then, hit by a stray thought, frowned and turned towards Thomas Crabbe.

'Say, Crabbe, didn't you have a son?'

As if the question had sparked some distant memory, Crabbe frowned in his turn, trying to recall; by the image of utter confusion his sweat covered face had become, it was obvious that his effort had failed, and the man contented himself on responding with a helpless shrug.


	2. Random Encounters

'You're not seriously thinking about letting Sigmund out on the train,' Draco said, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. 'You could lose him, he might jump out the window…he might attack someone.' The boy added, swallowing dry.

Dia Crabbe shook her head decidedly and took the transport case down from the luggage compartment. The cat was now growling, a low menacing sound, like that of a mechanism winding itself to explode.

'Say something, Goyle!' the blonde child urged, nervously fidgeting in his seat; not completely sure of what was going on and why his intervention was needed, Goyle contented himself on a grumble.

'One vote for, one against and one abstention. I say Sigmund goes free,' Dia shrugged, and with a swift gesture released the delicate mechanism holding the transport's case door in place. Draco braced himself, fingers digging into the thick scarlet velvet of the seat's armrest – and the animal darted out, meowing as if the world's greatest hook had been tearing out its intestines.

To the blonde boy's joy, as soon as he was free, Sigmund dashed out the compartment door, surprised screams from fellow passengers announcing that he was traveling down the train's corridor at some great speed. Thumps were heard, as frightened children rushed out of the black feline's way, then all became quite calm, and Draco sighed with great relief.

'He'll be back,' she snickered, feeling thoroughly avenged for Draco's earlier prodding.

'If his friends from the second circle of hell don't ask him to stay for tea and raw liver,' Malfoy said to Vincent Goyle, and both of them started chuckling.

'Sigmund is a nice cat,' Goyle reasoned a few seconds later, which made Draco laugh even harder.

'Been reading up, Vince? Can identify animal species now?'

Goyle did not catch the irony, but smiled nonetheless.

'Have candy?' he asked, then quickly reconsidered. 'I have candy.'

'Give here!' Draco commanded, suddenly growing interested and leaning forward in his seat. Nodding merrily, Vincent stood and brought his heavy trunk down from the baggage compartment with remarkable ease; within a few seconds, the trunk was opened to reveal multicolored treasure.

Mrs. Goyle, it seemed, had taken great care her son would not go hungry on the trip to Hogwarts; either that, or she had packed sweets for an entire quidditch team. Four boxes of Botts Every Flavor Beans, ten or twenty chocolate frogs and three dozen packs of liquorish wands were soon pulled out and spread throughout the compartment.

'No fizzies?' Dia inquired, with some disappointment.

'Must be in there, somewhere… I'm sure mom packed some, because I told her you like them.'

'If there's Honeycombs chocolate, I want it.' Draco intervened.

'There you go, Malfoy.' The girl responded, tossing a blue and gold hexagonal box over her shoulder. Draco caught it effortlessly, then started opening it. He stopped before the package had been completely torn, though, and sniffed at the wrapping carefully.

'Has this been anywhere near his socks?' he asked.

'It is better not to ask questions which might have disturbing answers…' Dia began slowly. 'Not his socks,' she conceded to Draco's scowl. 'It was hidden in a boot.'

'Mom says chocolate is bad for me,' Vince shrugged apologetically.

'Ew, Goyle!' the blonde child exclaimed and grimaced. He sighed, and set the box aside, as his companions settled and began munching on their sweets. 'What's this you've been saying about Harry Potter, Dia?'

'…warts this 'ear. Prolly on the train, too.' He made out from the girl's words, which were significantly slurred by the fact that she was trying to eat and speak at the same time. '…s wrong?' Dia asked, at her companion's frown.

'Well,' Draco replied, carefully picking at the blue box and trying to extract a chocolate bar without touching the package too often, 'I am sure my parents expect me to make an impression in school – not that I don't expect it of myself, really. But I can bet that good old Dumbledore will have his eyes on the boy hero, which will make it just a tad harder.'

'I don't see what the fuss is about with this Potter,' he continued, a touch of spite in his voice. 'For all we know, You-Know-Who's wand might have simply misfired.'

'I mean, if he was the boy I saw at Malkin's, he was confused and silly and he did not look like much of a…'

At a loss for words, Draco used unwrapping a Honeycombs chocolate bar as an excuse to remain silent. He did not know what exactly Harry Potter was supposed to be; he doubted anyone actually knew. All that was known was that as a baby, Potter had survived the great evil that had killed his parents, by chance or by miracle… Yet somehow, his survival did not mean Potter had qualities – it did not mean that Potter was better than Draco. Perhaps he had just been lucky. Still, being lucky was not a talent or a learned skill, and it most certainly did not show on one's face.

Commotion in the corridor announced that Sigmund had turned around; a girl screamed, there was more thumping and rushing to the sides. A couple of children pressed themselves against the compartment's sliding door in fright as the cat passed by and quickly disappeared again, running like mad towards the back of the train.

'Sigmund is having fun,' the large boy observed blandly.

'Maybe we should go make friends,' Draco said, ignoring both Goyle and Sigmund's antics, and biting down on the chocolate bar.

'With Harry Potter?' Vincent asked. 'But you just said you didn't like him.'

'... didn't say that. 'ust that he didn't look like much,' Dia explained patiently and as clearly as her candy filled mouth allowed.

'But Draco just said Potter is silly!' Goyle stubbornly repeated.

'No, Vince,' the girl responded, as Draco rolled his eyes at the large boy's confusion. 'He said Potter looks silly. The problem is that we don't know what someone who survived You-Know-Who is supposed to look like. Because no one else lived. See? Maybe he looks like a dolt, and he is a dolt. But maybe he looks like a dolt, and is in fact a very smart guy or a very talented wizard. And maybe being friend with the boy who lived will make our life in school much easier.'

'And we won't know until we make friends,' Draco completed for her. 'I'm trying to think what I said to him at the tailor's. I think I was reasonably nice; I even said I was sorry his parents are dead, though now that I think about it, he lied to me and said that they were both purebloods, which they weren't.'

'Potter's mother was a mudblood. I wonder if…'

'Yes, but she was a witch, in the end. I don't think Mr. Malfoy would mind.' The girl interrupted, guessing what Draco was about to say. 'Must be sad not to have one's parents around,' she added, softly, and blondee boy nodded, not sure what to respond. His own parents were seldom around, and he wasn't sad at all.

'What if he doesn't want to make friends?' Vincent almost timidly inquired.

'Don't be stupid, Goyle,' Draco replied, his angelic face a perfect image of honest indignation. 'Who wouldn't want to be friends with us?'

* * *

A train car away from Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, the legendary Harry Potter listened with fascination as his new friend, Ronald Weasley described the intricate and interesting rules of the quidditch game. Much like everything that he had learned in the past two days, the two days that had passed since he had read the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry letter, the tale fascinated him, so he nodded eagerly and urged Ronald on.

Harry had liked the red-haired boy instantly. There was something wonderfully genuine about his freckled face and wide blue eyes.

He did not care that Ron worse somewhat tattered and worn clothes; they were clean, and the boy was quite happy with himself. After he had seen the legendary scar of Harry's forehead, Ron had exclaimed 'Wicked!' without even a trace of envy - it seemed Ron was very happy to have met Harry, and for some reason, Ron's excitement meant more to Harry than all the other awed gasps he had heard at the mention of his name.

The Dursleys, Harry's guardians from the time of his parents' deaths, had always gone out of their way to show Harry how strange and out of place he was, and how much they resented his presence. Receiving the Hogwarts letter, Hagrid's visit and the manner in which he had whisked Harry away, Diagon Alley – everything was a beautiful and miraculous dream come to life. What more could a child have wanted?

Harry wondered, smiling wide and twisting the picture of Albus Dumbledore he had found in a chocolate frog's wrapping between his fingers.

A world of magic and fantasy where everyone knew his name and was kind to him, new knowledge of his past, the bittersweet but tangible traces of his parents' lives…

Even the sweets tasted better, Harry decided, blowing upwards through his glasses, in a vain attempt of keeping his unruly brown hair from getting into his eyes. He had bought a lot of candy from the service cart, but it had been more for Ron's benefit than for his own; still, now he was very happy that he had. Candy wrappings lay scattered all around the compartment, to the delight of Ron's rodent pet.

Of course, Harry did not know how to work wand magic yet, but it didn't seem to be a problem; Ron, who apparently came from an all wizard family was not much better than him. He had proved it by failing to turn his rat, Scabbers, yellow – besides reassuring Harry that he was not much behind wizard children his age, seeing the poor ragged rat squeak in fright as the carton box he had been chewing on had flown clearly across the room had been wicked fun.

Meeting Hermione Granger, a pretty auburn haired girl had had the exact opposite effect. She seemed to know wand magic pretty well and had even made a demonstration of her powers by fixing Harry's cracked glasses. Still, in spite of the fact that she was a little haughty and intimidating, she seemed nice and very intelligent, and Harry had liked her too. In fact, of all the people had met since Hagrid had introduced him, there was a single one had had not liked.

At the tailor's on Diagon Alley, where Harry had gone to buy himself a cape and have it fitted, there had been a blonde, pale boy. Just a few moments spent in the blonde child's company had left Harry feeling sad, uninteresting and inadequate – what had been perhaps worse of all was the fact that the blonde had cared more whether Harry's parents had been a witch and a wizard than for the fact that they were dead. His opinion of Hagrid had been most unpleasant as well – all in all, the blonde seemed nothing more than an overly spoiled, rich and arrogant child who only whished to speak of himself.

Thinking of the boy he had met at madam Malkin's brought another question to Harry's thoughts, but just as he was turning towards Ron in order to ask more about how students were sorted into houses, the compartment door slid open. With much displeasure, Harry noted that the boy who had entered was the very same one he had been thinking of only seconds before. This time he was not alone – another boy and a girl were with him.

'Is it true?' the blonde boy inquired, with considerably more interest than he had shown Harry at madam Malkin's. 'They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Harry answered, a bit cautiously. He had an awfully bad feeling about the encounter, as he did not like the expression on the blonde child's face in the least. He was sure that the boy who had just entered meant to be arrogant, and indeed, everything in the blonde's posture – the crossed arms, the casual position of the legs, the inquisitively raised eyebrows - demonstrated that he intended to make Harry feel inferior and unsafe. Still, behind of all the façade of self assurance, somewhere lurking in the soft shadows of the boy's silver eyes, there was a dangerous fire of envy – not a spark, but high, roaring flames. This boy, Harry understood, perceived his fame in a manner different than all the rest; this boy perceived Harry's fame as a direct threat to himself.

What was even more unpleasant was that the two standing to each side of the blonde child looked especially nasty. The girl had a malicious twinkle in her eyes, as if she had been thoroughly enjoying her companion's unpleasant attitude, and the other boy…well, he looked just thick and mean, small dark eyes beneath a narrow brow.

'This is Dia Crabbe,' the blonde boy said, carelessly waving his slender fingers in the girl's direction. 'And this is Vincent Goyle. And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.'

Behind Harry, Ron Weasley snickered – and perhaps Harry would have smiled too, was it not for the instantaneous change in Draco's demeanor.

'Think my name's funny, do you?' Malfoy snarled, taking a step towards Ron, and completely wavering all pretense of civility. 'No need to ask who you are – my father told me that all Weasleys have red hair, freckles…'

'…and more children than they can afford.' He added, appraising Ron's robes with an expert eye. Flushed and embarrassed, Weasley remained silent, so, with a smirk of triumph, Draco once again turned towards Harry. 'You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.'

With that, Draco extended his right hand towards Harry, but Harry didn't take it.

'I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,' he said, with a certain amount of satisfaction. Malfoy had been simply horrible to Ron, and it felt good to leave him with his hand hanging in mid-air.

A red twinge ascended to Draco's pale cheeks, and he paused for a moment, thinking of what he could possibly say to somewhat lessen the humiliation he had just taken. 'I'd be careful if I were you, Potter,' he said slowly, remembering what Dia had said just before they had left their compartment. 'Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you.'

Both Harry and Ron darted to their feet, facing the three intruders, whose expressions were growing more menacing by the minute.

'Say that again!' Weasley exclaimed, clenching a fist.

'Oh, you're going to fight us?' Draco sneered, as his two acolytes took a step forward. Given the fact that none of them was particularly slender, and that they were already wearing their school uniforms, the motion made it seem as if a solid dark wall had been moving in on Harry and Ron. In spite of this, however, both boys were far too angry to consider consequences.

'Unless you get out now,' Harry said, which, strangely, made Dia Crabbe laugh.

'But we don't feel like leaving, do we, guys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some; we've wasted a trip down the train, at least we should have something to show for it.' Draco responded, with a wide grin. As if on a mark, Vincent Goyle reached for one of the chocolate frogs next to Ron, but yelped and withdrew his hand, with Weasley's rat still attached to one of his fingers.

Much to Ron and Harry's relief, Malfoy and Crabbe backed away, as Goyle yelled and shook his hand, desperately trying to get rid of the pesky rodent; still, just when Draco and his two companions looked ready to break and run, a sleek, dark shadow darted from the corridor, collided with the flying rat detaching it from Goyle's hand, and landing noiselessly on one of the seats.

Ron and Harry turned in perfect synchronicity, and Ron gave a little yell of fright. Scabbers hung limply in the jaws of a huge black cat – or, more precisely, of a huge, horrible looking, almost black cat. The animal's hair was long at places, but reddish patches of short fur appeared from place to place, making the cat's coat look like an old and torn hat. The cat's left ear was missing, as was its right eye, but the one eye the feline had left, huge and yellow, was shining with malice and rolling madly in its socket.

'Sigmund!' Dia Crabbe exclaimed. 'Spit!'

The cat did not budge – except for the big, bushy tail waving rapidly from side to side – but growled instead, shaking the rat and making it squeal pitifully.

'Don't let him eat Scabbers!' Ron pleaded. 'I've had him for as long as I can remember…'

'Of course she won't let him eat Scabbers,' Malfoy quickly responded, in an exaggeratedly whiny tone, meant to ridicule Ron's plea. 'Sigmund doesn't eat junk.'

'Spit that filthy thing out!' Crabbe again commanded the cat – this time, Sigmund obeyed. When Ron rushed to recuperate his pet and see what if any damage the feline had caused, however, Sigmund hissed menacingly, revealing a surprisingly white and sharp set of canines and tearing at Ron's extended fingers with razor sharp claws.

'Bloody hell!' Weasley cried, withdrawing his badly hurt fingers. Sigmund defiantly hissed again, pointedly demonstrating he intended to defend his prey.

'You are not eating that animal, Sigmund!' Crabbe insisted. 'You don't know where it's been crawling!'

'Scabbers is clean!' Ron protested, making Draco laugh. 'I gave him a bath right before we left home,' the red headed boy added ruefully, probably understanding he was not helping his pet's defense in the least.

'But then you've touched it since, haven't you, Weasley?' Malfoy chuckled nastily, watching the red-haired boy's cheeks flush in indignation and embarrassment. The argument proved sufficient for Sigmund; the cat jumped off the seat, and strode proudly towards the corridor, rubbing itself against Draco's leg and even beginning to purr loudly before he once again darted out and disappeared.

Exchanging a surprised glance, Dia and Draco shrugged to each other, then turned to follow the cat; Goyle went silently after them, throwing Harry and Ron a menacing frown.

The Malfoys, Ron told Harry had been on the side of Voldemort, the powerful evil wizard that had killed all those who opposed his segregationist desires and who did not join him in hatred of non-magical folk, up until a few months before Voldemort's final defeat.

'Lucius Malfoy was not sent to Azkaban because he claimed he had been hexed,' Ron said, affectionately caressing Scabbers, and gently twisting him around to see if the rat was bleeding anywhere. 'But my dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoys didn't need to be hexed to go over to the dark side.'

Harry nodded thoughtfully; so, there was reason to why he had instantly disliked Draco. Draco's family had been friends with the wizard who had killed Harry's parents. And after these past few minutes…There was no way for Harry to like Draco – not in a million years.

* * *

'The sheer gall of that boy! Does he even begin to understand who he's dealing with?' Draco thundered, rapidly pacing from one corner to the other of the small compartment. 'You do realize that you have rat saliva on there, don't you, Goyle?' he asked, stopping abruptly in front of Vincent Goyle, who was sucking at his injured finger. Blushing in embarrassment, the boy removed his hand from his lips and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket.

'I've heard he's only lived among muggles. Maybe he hasn't heard of your family,' Dia shrugged.

'Well, he's certainly heard of the Weasleys!' Draco remarked, spitefully. 'Bloody red haired bunch of beggars, all of them…'

'Potter is silly. And Weasley is ugly.' Vincent interrupted, feeling he was being left out. 'What? What?' he asked in utter confusion, as Draco scowled at him and Dia Crabbe began giggling.

'They are!' Goyle affirmed, growing red in the face. 'If it wasn't for that damned rat, I would've…'

'No matter.' Draco interrupted in his turn. 'If Potter wants to hang about with Weasley…and his rat,' he conceded to Goyle, 'he's not good enough to be our friend. Let them sort him into Gryffindor for all I care.'

The child took his seat and elegantly crossed his legs, just the way his father did, when he sat in front of the fireplace after dinner; meeting Potter had been a defeat, of course, and he had not expected to be treated so horribly. But then, Potter's mother had been a mudblood and he had been raised by muggles. Such people, as Narcissa often said, could not be expected to show the least trace of proper behavior. Potter probably chewed with his mouth open, too, Draco decided, with a little smirk. Besides, the situation suited him just fine.

He had not wanted to make friends with the famous Harry Potter, not really. Draco could not have cared less that Potter had survived Voldemort; he liked the make-up of his small group.

Dia was nice and funny enough, Sigmund acted like a transmodified puma, and Vince…well, Vince was as big as a door and had occasional moments of lucidity. Best of all, he had known these two children for most of his life; they were of good families that had been loyal friends to the Malfoys for generations. And they were loyal and respectful to Draco, as their fathers had been loyal and respectful to Lucius. There was no place for an outsider like Potter, none whatsoever.


End file.
